


to the moon and he came back

by LucienDeLorne



Category: South Park
Genre: Death(s), M/M, Soulmates, alternative universe
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-04
Updated: 2019-05-13
Packaged: 2020-02-18 15:49:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18702688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LucienDeLorne/pseuds/LucienDeLorne
Summary: Their mission has been completed, and their plan can finally come to fruition as they bask with the fruits of their not so metaphorical labors. Two boys bestowed upon the world and upon two desperate women; two individuals destined for love; twin souls.The sun smiles down with admiration and adoration at the two women’s efforts as no matter what transpires between them, their children’s fates have been so tenderly penciled onto the night sky like a letter of love.





	1. Chapter 1

The Denver skyline is devoid of stars, a barren sea of black that blankets the earth and people underneath it. Or at least it would appear that way. The twinkling stars are overshadowed by the bright city lights of a bustling city life below; however, they still watch down on the world, all knowing and seeing, just as alive as the city they supervise.  
   
Just as alive as the two new mothers smiling wearily at each other with flushed faces and trembling lips. Lazy and exhausted, hair dampened with the perspiration collecting on their strained brows. Their mission has been completed, and their plan can finally come to fruition as they bask with the fruits of their not so metaphorical labors. Two boys bestowed upon the world and upon two desperate women; two individuals destined for love; twin souls.  
   
The sun smiles down with admiration and adoration at the two women’s efforts as no matter what transpires between them, their children’s fates have been so tenderly penciled onto the night sky like a letter of love.  
   
*  
   
Kenny McCormick is going to be late to his orientation, but what else is new? He intended to get up early, even went so far as to set his alarm for 5 am. Kenny is somehow always tardy, but he will swear up and down that it’s never quite his fault. Or at least that’s what he tells himself.  
   
The morning plays out as per usual with Kenny pressing down on the snooze button not once, not twice, but three times- by the third time, he’s finally gathered the energy to poke his blond mop out from underneath his comforter and let out a yawn before stretching himself lazily in an effort to shed the sleep off of him. A swift check of the clock alerts him that it’s 5:15. He has an hour and forty five minutes.  
   
In this span of time, Kenny gets up and wastes a full 15 minutes scrolling through his FaceBook newsfeed. He cooks a sloppy breakfast of egg whites with toast, allotting a good 30 minutes to prepping, cooking and quickly shoving it down his throat with a refreshing glass of orange juice to wash it all down. After an unproductive 5 minutes of rifling through his unorganized closet, he opts to wear a white button down with a blue tie. He’s clever, he thinks, seeing as how the tie is speckled with stars and planets, fitting for a gig at the planetarium.  
   
Dressing doesn’t take long, but trying to tame his hair with a cheap comb, brush his teeth, dig out his best cologne and dispense food into his cat’s dish eats up a lot more time than he anticipated. When all is said and done, he closes his apartment door behind him, locks up, and glances at his watch to realize that he has a mere 10 minutes to be at the Denver planetarium. Kenny lets out a sigh, running a hand through his shaggy hair. He can do this. Even if his new job is all the way across town.  
   
So with all that said, Kenny makes a sprint for it. The elevator door inches closed painstakingly slow, and he jams his finger on the button to the first floor, taps his foot impatiently against the tiled surface below him, and as the elevator comes to a halt, he speed walks out the front doors. When he’s safely out of the confines of the building, he full on books it down the busy street. He’s almost grateful his mother made him take up track. She had seemed so insistent on it as if his life depended on it. He still can’t wrap his head around her motivation for it. It’s not like they even had the money for it.  
   
Whatever the case, he’s halfway to the planetarium at this point, close enough to make out the unmistakable dome shape in the distance. As he inches closer, his gaze locked on the tip top of the building like a point of refuge, he feels himself collide into another being, all of his efforts landing him with his chest in the dirt and a face full of concrete. He can hear whatever- or whomever- he bumped into let out an indignant ‘fuck.’ As he looks up and begins dusting himself off, Kenny sees paper scattered about him, dazed eyes now on the mess he’s made.

“Shit, my bad.” He apologizes sheepishly, going to pick up some of the many papers.  
   
“Don’t bother.” It comes from a voice coated in nasal apathy. Kenny pauses as he hears it, eyes trailing up a pair of long, thin legs.  
   
He’s met with the tired face of a man in an ironed blue button down, similar to his own, a plain black tie, and uniform slacks. He seems to have gathered most of his papers by now and turns to Kenny with an unreadable expression, hand outstretched in Kenny’s direction. For a second, Kenny thinks this man is offering a helping hand.

Until he realizes he still has one of his papers in his grasp.  
   
Kenny is met with the greenest eyes he’s ever seen, the two absinthe orbs so deep and brooding they could rival the drink themselves in their potency. They’re locked on him now, and the man has finally stopped fussing over his paperwork. They’re framed by thick black lashes, little freckles littering the apples of his cheeks, and Kenny wouldn’t even notice them if he wasn’t this close.  
   
He’s pretty- too pretty- and Kenny swears he feels like the world is in slow motion. He can hear his heartbeat resounding between his temples, his heart drumming furiously in his chest. There is a moment when Kenny thinks that maybe this guy feels it, too, this electricity, because he swears he sees those big green eyes widen just a bit before quickly returning to normal.  
   
“My paper.” The guy motions expectantly with his hand that is not curled around the thick stack. Maybe it’s just Kenny who’s dumbstruck over this rude stranger, and he feels stupid for even considering any possibility of this guy reciprocating. Kenny’s tongue darts out to wet his lips as he hands over the final paper, and without so much as a thank you, the man is off. Kenny watches his retreating frame for a brief few moments, and then remembers he is going to be fucking late for work.  
   
*  
   
Kenny readjusts his tie, straightens his name badge, lets out a sigh of frustration, and then puts on the most enthusiastic tour guide face he can. It’s almost like stepping into the next chapter of his life, even if he’s just a tour guide, and even if his first step feels like it has been into a puddle. He’s fascinated by astronomy and the history, the romanticism of it all, and he has been for as long as he can really recall. It might help that his mom is an astrologist; might help that he grew up so heavily influenced by the stars.  
   
Whatever the case, he has his foot in a door. Finally, and quite literally. Kenny makes his first step into the museum and hastily makes his way to where his orientation will be, pushing open the door to a rather bland looking meeting room where there is already one other person: a blond man who looks tweaked out. He holds a cup of coffee in his grasp, dumping a copious amount of sugar into the mug with all the grace up a bull in a China shop.  
   
Kenny takes a seat next to him hesitantly, folding his hands onto his lap, and thinks that maybe he’s not so late after all. His gaze drifts to the blond man who brings his coffee to his lips and seems to suck the whole thing down in a second, and Kenny doesn’t know if he should be impressed or mortified. With a poorly contained grimace, he decides to look away, and just as he does, the door opens again.  
  
“Sorry. Some asshole…” the man pauses, and Kenny stares at him. It’s in this moment that he realizes that the man he bulldozed while rushing to work is going to be his boss. Of fucking course.  
Their eyes meet, and Kenny’s tongue again darts out to wet his lips. This can’t be a coincidence, he thinks, but then again, one can never be so sure. Nothing in life is really set in stone, Kenny knows this. He’s experienced and witnessed death countless times. That’s the most unpredictable, but also the most concrete thing life has to offer.  
   
Kenny feels himself sink a little in his chair under his boss’ looming gaze, those harsh green eyes glazed over a bit as if he is contemplating something. He doesn’t look like he’s contemplating Kenny’s death, however, and Kenny will take this as a blessing.  
   
“Never mind that. My name is Craig Tucker, and...Tweek? This isn’t the break room today. Please relocate.”  
   
The tweaked out blonde lets out a strangled noise and stands, a shudder running through him as he does so, and he refills his coffee cup for what has to be the tenth time today before retreating and leaving Kenny and Craig to their own devices.

Craig is his name, Kenny notes, and he’s Kenny’s boss. He’s rifling through his paperwork for something, and Kenny stares open and expectantly at him. When he finally looks up, he has a cold expression on his countenance.  
   
“Do I have something on my face?” Craig questions flatly as he saunters over, placing the paper in front of Kenny with a little more force than necessary. Kenny shakes his head as he pulls out his wallet, swallowing the lump in his throat and fishing out his social security card without breaking eye contact.  
   
“What? No. Uh. Sorry.” Kenny apologizes sheepishly, but still takes a few seconds to avert his eyes.  
   
“Okay.” Craig responds evenly, seemingly satisfied with this response, and Kenny struggles to get his attention focused on the task at hand: application paperwork. It’s all pretty simple, and he fills it out rather quickly.  
   
“I’ll make a copy of this.” Craig mutters as he plucks Kenny’s social security card up from the table and disappears behind a door with a bold DO NOT DISTURB sign. Kenny finally takes a moment to access his surroundings. For a break room, the setting is so...boring. And that’s saying a lot considering Kenny worked at shitty fast food joints and retail all his life. Their break rooms were always a mess of personal clutter and unidentifiable food waste. This was a level of uniformity and mundane that Kenny can’t seem to wrap his head around. He’s looking over the patterns in the walls when Craig returns, and Craig hands Kenny his card back before going to collect his things.  
   
“Bebe Stevens will show you around. We know you’re familiar with the planetarium. It’s just protocol.” Craig explains with a dismissive wave of his hand. He adjusts his tie and turns on his heels, gone before Kenny can say anything more. He’s tempted to call to him to turn around; to fucking look at him and to ask him how he got this job with such piss poor social skills. Maybe ask if he’s free tonight. Kenny stifles that however. All of it, but especially the last one.  
   
*  
   
Bebe Stevens is a beautiful and friendly woman who wastes no time showing him his general route that he’ll take when he gives tours. She starts out with  the big display of the solar system in the lobby of the building, leading him through various other parts like displays of planets and astronomers, stars and galaxies. Kenny doesn’t have the heart to interrupt her with the admittance that he has walked this museum a million times. Or at least it feels that way.  
   
Kenny remembers his mom bundling up him and his siblings in their stuffy, beaten down truck to drive here. He remembers Karen sitting on his lap. He remembers the hum of the air conditioning or heat breathing out coolness or warmth depending on the weather. He remembers exploring the museum, being fascinated by its largeness and the vast knowledge he could learn without a teacher constantly looming over his shoulder.  
   
The planetarium has a fond place in his heart.  
   
“Well, that’s all, Kenneth. We are excited to have you start here tomorrow.” Bebe grins at him as they stand out on the steps of the building. It’s warm out, and Kenny wipes at the sweat gathering on his forehead.  
   
“Thanks. I’m excited to be here.” And it’s true, he is.  
   
“Mhm,” Bebe nods. “It’s a lovely place to work. I personally like marine biology more, but the stars…? Always will have a special place.” Bebe explains softly, and Kenny can get that.  
   
“Both are vast and need exploring. I guess they’re not so different?” Kenny says, and Bebe lets out a laugh as she runs a hand through her blond curls.  
   
“Not really, no.”  
   
They talk a little while longer until Bebe says she has to go, has to return home to her husband, and Kenny walks her down the steps to say his goodbye. He walks away from the planetarium, excited for what the future brings.  
   
In the back of his mind he thinks of Craig, looks over his shoulder and wonders if the other is holed up in the confines of his office with stacks of paperwork barricading the door. Kenny wonders if maybe he can try to get close to him, win him over. He’s always been good with winning people over.  
   
He imagines running his fingertips down the length of Craig’s cheek speckled cheeks, making sense out of those jumble of freckles and seeing if he can find constellations like in the stars.  
   
Kenny turns back ahead of him.  
   
This is stupid. Right? All he knows about Craig is his name. And yet. there is something extremely familiar and magnetizing about him. It’s not his personality, but something.

Maybe he’s just trying to discover a new meaning in these stars.


	2. Chapter 2

Everyone has a starting point. For Carol and Laura, it’s South Park. A quiet little town in the mountains. A little ways from Denver. 

 

Carol has nothing. At least she feels that way. She sits on the steps of her parents trailer and watches the snowfall. It gathers on the ground in all its powdery white. Carol knows better. Because after the initial blanketing of pure white comes the gross slush. The snow has a start, like all things. Like Carol. But after living, being stepped on and played with, the snow and all beings grow dirty.

 

Carol snuffs out her cigarette on the damp wood of the front porch. Turns around to retreat into her living room. This is where she sleeps and where she pulls on an old, worn jumper and some jeans. She slings her backpack over her shoulder and goes to make the walk to school.

 

On the other side of town, Laura wakes to her older sister passed out on her floor. She steps over her thin frame. Drops down to her, checks her pulse. When Laura feels the steady drumming of heartbeat under her fingertips, she lets out a sigh. Stands and goes to her routine of the morning. 

 

Brushes her hair out, cleans her teeth and puts on a glittery top with some slacks that flow out at the bottom. As she steps downstairs the smell of breakfast greets her. Laura’s father and mother are seated at the table. There is an almost eeriness to it. Laura doesn’t have to explain the current state of her sister. They know, but no one says a word about it. 

 

Laura’s mother drives her to school, turns up the radio. Silence. As they drive through downtown South Park, Laura notices the fresh coating of snow. She can’t help but think that underneath the pure white and beauty, there is mud.

  
  
******  
  


 

 

“Is this supposed to be funny?” Craig glowers down at the sloppy handwriting on the application in his hands, left eye twitching ever so slightly. BIRTH DATE: JANUARY 25TH Thetext mocks him like an obnoxious bird pecking at the sensitive corners of his brain, and he crumples the papers into a ball and forcefully spikes them into the wastebasket by his desk. Somehow, his new applicant has discovered his birthdate and his social security number- only a single digit variation on the latter- and has filled out his application with this nonsense. Craig doesn’t need this. He doesn’t have the time to go through an extensive hiring process, orientation, training courses, and tax forms for some insolent manchild with nothing better to do than to hack Craig’s personal information and play games with him.

 

“Craig?” Tweek’s meek voice is muffled by the thick oak of Craig’s office door, and Craig sighs his indignation, resolving to deal with the termination process and confrontation of Mr. McCormick tomorrow. He hastily threads his arms through the sleeves of his black jean jacket and stuffs his car keys in his pocket, swinging open the door and pushing past his trembling coworker. “Wh-What’s wrong, dude? Are you out of here already?”

 

“Go ahead and lock up. I’ll be here first thing in the morning.” And with that, Craig is out the doors, cigarette already finding its way to his lips as he makes the journey to his car.

 

Craig’s mother is a quiet woman. She has lived in the same two story house on the same street in the same district of South Park for the past 25 years, and most people only know her as the blond housewife with the sharp tongue and sweetest lemon meringue in town. When Craig came to live with her he was only 7 years old and wasn’t sure how he was supposed to fit into this woman’s cookie cutter life; however, she had made a place for him at their dinner table, and even though she had seemed burdened by the sudden change in her routine initially, she always found a way to smile in his presence.

 

Craig pulls into her driveway at a quarter past 5, relaxes when he sees that his car is the only one now occupying the driveway, and heads inside without knocking. Sometimes he worries she’s too careless for leaving the door unlocked, but his sister Ruby insists that their mother only unlocks the front door every day at 4:30 PM sharp in preparation for Craig’s inevitable arrival. Perhaps he’s too predictable. And perhaps he doesn’t care.

 

Laura is standing in the kitchen, slicing an even layer of bananas overtop a bed of pudding and vanilla wafers with a smile cresting her lips. Craig slips his shoes off by the door and comes up behind her, lazily draping his arms around her waist and leaning his cheek against her silky, blond hair. When he was a child he would bury his face in her apron, listen to Ruby complain loudly about being hungry, and stare wide eyed at his mother when she handed him a lozenge from her apron pocket and winked at him.

 

“You’re making banana pudding,” Craig says softly, less like a question and more like an observation. He can’t see her face, but he knows she’s smiling.

 

“Yes, Sweetie. Your father got his promotion so I’m making him his favorite dessert. Ruby loves it, too, but she’s out again tonight.” Out Again. Craig rolls his eyes and retracts his arms, moving to sit on the edge of the counter as if he’s not a beanstalk. He knows that means that Ruby is out partying again, and he’s always hated the way his mother sweeps it under the rug and pretends that his sister isn’t out getting smashed and sleeping it off on Ike Broflovski’s couch. “How was work?” Laura changes the subject swiftly, handing Craig her pudding covered spoon and setting her dish in the fridge.

 

“Hn. Fine, I suppose. I hired a new guy, and I already have to fire him.” Craig murmurs, staring down at the spoon in his hand and inspecting it listlessly.

 

“Oh?” Laura hums, not paying much mind to his word as she turns her attention to the pile of dishes that has accumulated in the sink. “That’s too bad, Sweetie. Have you been eating?” She continues, and Craig feels himself frowning.

 

“I’m fine. I’m not getting sick again.” He deadpans, setting the spoon in the sink and slipping off the counter. Laura catches his wrist, pulls him to face her. She places her hand on his cheek, inspecting his face in a way that makes him want to recoil. She always gets this way when Ruby goes out to act as the town’s bicycle, and he sometimes resents having to be the responsible sibling.

 

“You look so tired.”

 

“I’m fine.” He reiterates tersely, but his expression softens when his eyes meet hers. “I haven’t been sick in a long time. You don’t need to worry.” He assures her, softer this time, and she seems satisfied with this response because she smiles wearily and pats his cheek.

 

“Okay.” She turns her attention back to her dishes. “Why do you have to fire your new hire?” Craig snorts, absentmindedly inspecting the pamphlets stuck to the fridge.

 

“He lied on his application. Used my birth date and my social security number. He got the latter wrong by one digit, though.” He scoffs. “Kenny McCormick. The name itself sounded real enough.” Craig is startled by the sound of glass breaking, and he whips his head around to see his mother holding the fragments of a drinking glass. Quickly, he rushes over and takes the glass from her, yanks her hands towards him to check for any cuts.

 

“I’m sorry,” she apologizes weakly, and Craig sighs when he sees that she isn’t bleeding. It isn’t like her to be so careless, and he can’t help but blame Ruby. “I think I just need a nap.” She says, taking her hands back and drying them with the dish towel.

 

“Go lie down.” Craig tells her, lips pressed into a thin line. She excuses herself and disappears up the staircase, leaving Craig with her laundry list of chores. He doesn’t mind, though. She’s done much more for him.

 

-

 

By the time Craig gets the dishes, laundry, cooking, and vacuuming done, it’s pitch black outside, and his phone keeps going off with texts from Clyde checking to see if he’s going to bring pizza on his way back to their apartment. He stacks the last dish in the cupboard, fills a cup with water, and heads up to his mother’s bedroom. She hasn’t made a single sound since she retreated some hours earlier, and although Craig is aware that he’s probably just paranoid, he worries that he won’t find her; that all he will find is an empty room and a note like the one he found when he was only 7.

 

She’s there, though, a lump under a mass of blankets, and Craig exhales a sigh of relief. The room is dark, the only light coming from the hallway, but Craig spots her long, blond hair peeking out of the blankets. He moves to her bedside, sets the cup of water on her nightstand, and tentatively brushes away the dampened strands of hair sticking to her cheeks. 

“Mom?” he asks quietly, swallowing the lump in his throat when her big, green eyes flutter open to stare back into his. One could argue that those eyes are the only things that he inherited from her in terms of looks.

 

“Hm? Craig, Sweetie, what are you still doing here?” she murmurs, wiping at her eyes and sitting up in bed.

 

“I just. I was just checking.” He fumbles over his words, and he’s surprised at the way his hand shakes when he offers her the cup of water. Laura frowns and steadies his hand with her own, looking up at him.

 

“It’s okay, Craig. I’m okay.” She says, and she sips on her water. “It’s late. Why don’t you go home and get some rest?”

 

“Okay.” He whispers, standing up and turning away from her. “I’ll be back tomorrow.” Of course I will. I always am, Craig thinks bitterly, slipping out the door before he can hear her reply.

 

Ruby is pulling into the driveway jump as he’s heading out the front door, and he realizes that he doesn’t want to see her. He snatches a lozenge from the candy dish and pops in into his mouth, leaving the door ajar and ignoring Ruby’s wave when he backs out of the driveway.

 

-

 

“What kind did you get?” Clyde inquires the moment Craig steps through the threshold, moving at inhuman speeds from his seat on the couch to snatch the pizza from Craig’s hands. Bebe is still sitting on the couch, curled up under a throw cover that Laura knitted him for Christmas one year, and she offers Craig a smile when his eyes fall on her.

 

“Hawaiian. Your favorite.” Craig tells Clyde, who is practically salivating over the mess of melted cheese and greasy dough.

 

“Thanks, man! I owe you one! I thought I was gonna starve,” Clyde laughs sheepishly and licks his lips. “C’mon, babe. We can go back to my room now.” Clyde motions for Bebe to follow him down the hall, and Craig chooses to celebrate having the living room to himself in lieu of mourning over the pizza that would’ve quelled the nagging hunger in his stomach. There’s a half empty bottle of wine in the fridge, he reminds himself, and takes to finishing it off himself and watching Red Racer of the flat screen.

 

He’s not an alcoholic, he’s sure of it. He doesn’t rely on alcohol the way Stan Marsh does , and he doesn’t even drink every single night. However, it seems that more often than not, he’s sitting alone in his shared apartment, a burning in his throat and a cloud in his mind. Nothing ever changes, and he’s beginning to resent the world around him.

 

Every day he gets up, showers, grabs two cups of coffee for Tweek and himself, and heads into work 30 minutes early. Every day he makes the same phone calls to different clients, coordinates the same tours for different people, eats a sleeve of graham crackers for lunch, and rifles through paperwork. Every day he stops by his mother’s house after work, picks at whatever meal she forces upon him, and helps her around the house the way his father should be if he wasn’t always at work. Every night he goes home to his apartment, chills with Clyde for a bit, and more often than not watches some Netflix series over a bottle of wine. He feels like he’s living the same day over and over again; a never-ending state of déjà vu.

 

He hates it, but at the same time, he’s terrified of how quickly his routine could change; how easy it would be for his apartment to burn down in his sleep, to get into a car accident on his ride home from work, for the door to his mother’s house to be locked and for her to be gone…He’s crippled by the endless possibilities, and so he does what he can to keep the peace. He chooses monotony over insanity, and maybe that makes him a coward, but he doesn’t have the motivation to be any different.

 

So where does this Kenny McCormick kid come in trying to fuck up his life? What gives him the right to slip in out of nowhere and poke holes in the fabric of Craig’s boring life? There’s no telling how this asshole managed to find out his birthday let alone his social security number—the latter of which could have disastrous consequences—or how he ever thought he could get away with wasting Craig’s time in such a way. Maybe his time isn’t the most valuable, Craig thinks, but he doesn’t have enough of it to spare on some piece of shit prankster.

 

“Fuck him,” Craig hisses, sitting up straight on the couch and yanking his cell phone from his pocket. Maybe it’s the alcohol talking or maybe he’s just upset from his earlier exchange with his mother, but he can feel a burning in his chest that he can’t ignore. He dials Kenny’s number- or at least, he hopes it’sKenny’s number- and waits for the other to pick up even though it’s well past 11 PM.

 

“Hello?” comes the confused reply from the other end, and Craig’s toes curl in anticipation.

 

“Kenneth McCormick? This is Craig Tucker.”

 

“Huh? Oh, okay. Yeah, um. What’s-“

 

“I’m calling to let you know that your employment has been terminated. Don’t bother coming to return your nametag or uniform, and I’d very much appreciate it if you didn’t return to the museum in the future.” Click.

 

And that’s that. Perhaps he was a bit harsh with the execution, but he’s already wasted enough time on this guy to worry about it, and forces himself up from the sofa. It’s late, and he’s tired. He has a long day tomorrow filled with reviewing potential candidates for the recently available position, and he can only hope that the measly 6 hours he has left to sleep will be enough for him not to be curt and irritable with Tweek in the morning.

 

“Ah,” Craig grimaces just as he’s passing Clyde’s doorway towards his own, feeling a quick, sharp pain in his temples before a scream is forcefully ripped from his chest. Burning; there’s a white, hot, burning in his lungs, and his bony fingers twist into the fabric of his shirt, face contorting in agony as he drops to the floor. There’s a ringing in his ears, and it’s as if a blanket has been thrown over his face because he can no longer see or breath or comprehend the whirlwind of pain clawing at him from every direction. He can hear Clyde’s panicked voice swimming in his lungs, taste the thick copper flooding his mouth and preventing him from screaming- preventing him from breathing-

And then it stops.


End file.
